From Francesca’s Pizza: In which we examine the loop

In which we examine the Loop  

(From http://www.francescaspizza.com )

During Patrick’s fateful Saturday afternoon visit with me, I set up a situation that demonstrates a little-considered truth about the relationship between the sexes—a truth of prime importance to a woman seeking sexual power: If a man is horny to begin with, and the sexual chemistry between you is such that you naturally turn him on, and he’s physically unable to resist, you can make him have an orgasm; his will alone can’t prevent it.
It’s easy to see why this truth is so obscure. The situation doesn’t come up in most people’s lives. A man is rarely put in a position where he’s unable to resist what a woman might do, and when it happens, it’s not in the presence of a woman whose intentions are sexual. Even among couples who play at bondage the situation is rare; when the man is tied up, the woman doesn’t create in his mind a need to resist the stimulation she offers.
Besides, we’ve been acculturated to a view of masculinity that tells us that men are always eager for sexual release. We’re not used to thinking that a man might be subjected to sexual stimulation and try to resist it. This in turn feeds the rarity of the occurrence; the situation has so seldom been set up because only a few women have thought to do it.
Not all societies share this view. Anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski, in his 1929 tome, The Sexual Life of Savages, describes the yausa of the southernmost villages of the Trobriand Islands—a ritual sexual assault committed upon a man by a group of women. According to Malinowski’s informants, the group would first tear up their victim’s pubic leaf, so that he would have to go naked afterward and be unable to conceal what had happened to him. Next they would hold him down and display their genitals and stimulate his penis until it got hard; then one of them would mount him and fuck him until he came. If that didn’t exhaust him, another woman would take a turn. Eventually the man would be completely worn out. When he was, the women would urinate and defecate on him, paying particular attention to his face, and often beat him as well.
This sort of pastime is a bit much for so gentle and fastidious a person as me, and I wouldn’t like to see it become common in California, but it does prove my point. A victim of the yausa, once set upon by the gang, knew the script. It was, after all, a ritual, and notorious throughout the islands. Still, even though these women had destroyed his pubic leaf, even though he knew the pollution to which they were going to subject him, he couldn’t help but get hard when the right sort of stimulation was applied, and he couldn’t help but come when he was fucked. The power of femininity is truly irresistible.
There are two reasons it’s important to understand that you’re irresistible. One is that it builds confidence. Confidence gives you an even sexier aura and makes you even harder to resist—an effect that’s magnified still further when your man is unable to interfere with what you might do. Confidence also keeps you from being bluffed off course. If you set up the sort of scene that I did with Patrick, especially if you do it for the purpose of gaining leverage in dealing with a problem in your relationship, many a man will try a bluff to get you to stop as soon as he sees what you’re up to, and he’ll do it even while tied naked and helpless. He’ll ask in a disappointed tone, designed to make you feel guilty, whether you’re “that kind of person.” He’ll tell you that what you’re doing turns him off, hoping to stop you before you’ve had a chance to make your own observation of the intensity with which it turns him on. He’ll tell you you’ll never see him again. He’ll tell you more things than I can warn you about. Whatever he tells you, it’s best met with a confident demeanor. You won’t always succeed this way, but almost always. If you lack confidence—if you let yourself be bluffed—you’ll never succeed.
The other reason it’s important to know you’re irresistible is that if you’re to control your man completely, he has to know he can’t resist you, and he has to know that you know he knows. It’s actually necessary to demonstrate this to him, as I demonstrated it to Patrick, and to do so repeatedly throughout your relationship.
It might not be all that obvious that Patrick was trying to resist me. He certainly made no great show of it, but that’s because if he had, he would have been all the more embarrassed when the inevitable finally overtook him, and he knew from the outset that it would.
Patrick was trying not to come for several reasons, all of which I had given him for the purpose of creating resistance that I would defeat. One was that I was going to continue playing with his cock, in its state of sensitivity, until he promised to be my love slave. Continued stimulation would be distressing. Being forced to submit and make the promise would be embarrassing in itself, and it would also open up the possibility that I might use his sensitivity again in the future, either coercively as I used it that afternoon, or simply as a toy. He had never before had a lover who was aware of that possibility, much less interested in it, and it made him feel terribly vulnerable.
Another reason for his resistance was that I was going to watch him ejaculate, and that embarrassed him too. Sure, he had come in my pussy a dozen times, but I don’t have eyes there. Sure, he’d had other lovers, and it’s certain that some of his previous lovemaking had included manual stimulation that led to orgasm. Sure, it was obvious from my age and skill that during my life I’d witnessed the ejaculations of many men, and many times each. Still, on that afternoon, his emotional reality—the scene as it felt to him—was that he’d been tied up by a curious teenage girl who was going to make him have an orgasm so she could watch him ejaculate. And she would tease him about it afterward.
There was yet another reason for Patrick to resist, and it’s the big one: His orgasm would confirm that what I was doing to him was indeed an irresistible turn-on. It would confirm that he was turned on by the idea of being my love slave, by the fantasy of having to stand before me with his cock sticking out, by the expectation of having me watch him come, by the awareness that I knew how sensitive his cock gets after he comes, by my intention to play with that sensitivity. All these things were running through his mind and, because of what I was saying to him, he knew that I knew.
He was embarrassed in the extreme at being so obviously turned on by all that, and he was turned on by his embarrassment—by the feeling that all my attention was on him, that I’d taken control of his body, that I knew his most private thoughts and feelings, that he had no place to hide, that he was so intimately exposed to me in every way.
Stripping the last bit of commentary from that explanation, we’re left with the simplest possible description of the psychological Loop in which a man finds himself when placed in that sort of situation: He’s embarrassed at being turned on and he’s turned on by his embarrassment. I call it the Loop because that’s its shape—a self-reinforcing cycle made up of two components, each of which fuels the other. The way I take control of a man’s sexuality is to set up this Loop in his mind and feed it, doing this to add to his sexual arousal and that to add to his embarrassment.
Reduced to ultimate simplicity, the Loop might sound silly, far-fetched. With an appropriate context of circumstances and events though, like the circumstances and events of the afternoon Patrick promised to be my love slave, it becomes quite credible—different, to be sure, from what most people are accustomed to, but as credible as any obvious truth.

In the coming chapters, you’ll find a number of scenarios that illustrate the sexual dynamics of female domination, and the Loop figures prominently in all of them. You’ll also find a wide range of technical advice, and much of it will be focused on the Loop. Perhaps some of the scenarios will be built on circumstances that so closely match your own that you’ll be able to enact them almost as presented, and with good results. You’d do better, though, to use the scenarios only to help you understand the Loop and its possibilities, then steer your own course. Your circumstances, after all, are at least somewhat different from those of any couple described in this book, your personality is certainly different from that of any other woman, and your partner’s personality is different from that of any other man. If you develop a good understanding of the Loop, you won’t have to follow a recipe; you’ll know what you’re trying to accomplish and you’ll be able to find your way as you go.
An understanding of the Loop also enables you to feed it optimally—to say and do all the right things to enhance your lover’s perception that you control his body, that you know his most private thoughts and feelings, that he has no place to hide, that he’s intimately exposed to you in every way. Of course! If you want to create the impression that you know a man’s most private thoughts and feelings, nothing could possibly help so much as actually knowing them.

If that were the whole story of the Loop, its potential would be awesome enough, but there’s more.
First, the Loop has a way of getting burned in—it quickly becomes a man’s habitual mode of arousal. If you press your body against his and kiss him, not only does his cock get hard, but he gets embarrassed by knowing that you can feel it. Without additional prompting he gets further excited by his embarrassment, by knowing that you know he’s embarrassed, and by imagining what you might do with both his hard cock and his embarrassment. Even your smile, by itself, teases him about the secrets you know and becomes a powerful erotic stimulant.
Second, the Loop is addictive. Your lover begins to fantasize, even crave, scenarios in which his loss of control turns out to be especially embarrassing. His fantasies keep him turned on, and his awareness that it’s you who transforms fantasies into reality keeps him turned on to you in particular. As a consequence, his need for you is much stronger than it would be in an ordinary relationship. Because he needs you, he wants to please you. And his addiction to the Loop (and to you) can sometimes be made to compete with other, destructive addictions he might have, giving you a degree of leverage in getting them under control.
Third and best of all, the Loop can make a man love you with truly phenomenal intensity. We women have traditionally been more in love with our men than they, with us. This is because we’ve opened ourselves up to them, shared our secrets, and been accepted. At least that’s how it was early on, when love was new. Later, if things went according to the usual pattern, we continued to share what was important to us, and our words were barely heard and dismissed as trivial. Not as good as what we started with, but a pretty fair substitute when you consider the alternatives: it’s better than being rejected and it’s better than feeling obliged to keep everything inside as men do.
At the beginning of their relationships with us, men, too, open up and share their secrets. Love involves an exchange of vulnerabilities, and a relationship that doesn’t begin with mutual self-disclosure doesn’t get off the ground. Men, though, are raised to seek mastery over everything they encounter, including their women, so they soon find it necessary to erect barriers against us, hide their vulnerabilities, and do what they can to control us. In the process they lose the feeling of being in love, and it’s a great loss.
(Women who are bitter about being downtrodden will argue that men have done immeasurably more harm to women—stripped us of our humanity to a far greater degree—than they’ve injured themselves. I don’t disagree, but the question doesn’t interest me. Men don’t dominate me; I dominate them. And I do it to the good of both and the injury of neither. One of the thoughts with which I nourished my enthusiasm for writing this book was my conviction that few women who take control of their men will be so stupid as to follow the male pattern of depriving themselves of the closeness that initially made their relationships appealing.)
The Loop is a vulnerability that your man has to share with you. Unless he goes to the unlikely extreme of ending your sexual relationship, he can’t avoid the Loop; you can make it part of any or every sexual encounter. And once you’ve got him turned on, he can’t refuse to share his feelings; even if he’s as reticent as Patrick, his body will tell you everything. When you comment on what it does, even if only by saying, “Mm-hm,” he’ll know that you know.
It might be less than clear that the Loop is a vulnerability. We women are more matter-of-fact about such things, but men invariably experience it that way. A man is supposed to be in control—of himself, of his woman, of his whole world. The Loop is a loss of control over his own body and psyche that, unlike passing out in a drunken stupor, isn’t socially sanctioned. It isn’t regarded as common, either—at least not yet—so he worries that he’s perverted. Horrors! He has a dark secret! Other people might find out! Maybe it shows! He can find any number of reasons to feel vulnerable and insecure.
And so there you are, the two of you, and he’s sharing a significant vulnerability with you. He starts feeling that he’s in love with you. If you let him know that you find the Loop an endearing part of him, if you let him know that you don’t care that he’s perverted, if you let him know that his arousal and embarrassment together make a neat plaything, if you let him know that you can be trusted—that you appreciate being trusted—to give him a safe place to enjoy what he’s feeling, he’ll definitely fall in love with you, and in a big way. Don’t go so far as to tell him he’s not perverted, or that you wouldn’t want to lose such a neat plaything, because that will dilute his feeling of vulnerability, and with it the feeling of sharing his vulnerability with you, and with that the feeling of being in love.
When your man is both habituated to the Loop and in love with you, his love becomes a part of the Loop. When you say or do something that intensifies his embarrassment, he feels a rush of love as well. If you see this happen, you can tease him about how he can’t help but love you for embarrassing him. Do this with acceptance and affection, and it feeds the Loop, adding further to his arousal, his embarrassment, and his love.
There’s another way in which the Loop helps build a man’s love for you—one that’s more primitive. Love is nourished by sharp images of the beloved—snapshots etched in the consciousness, if you will. That truth is probably as little considered as the truth with which this chapter opened, but truth it is nevertheless, and if you think about it, you’ll recognize it as such from your own experience.
When you set up the sort of scene I did with Patrick, one of the things that happens is that your man pays attention to you. He doesn’t close his eyes and get lost in his own world, as men so often do during ordinary sex. He watches you. He listens to you. He builds a sharp mental record of everything that happens. When it’s over, he remembers every word you said, every move you made, every detail of how you looked, sounded and smelled. And for reasons buried deep in our brain stems, it makes him love you.
Patrick continued his relationship with me, as my love slave, for twenty-seven months. Obviously the reason wasn’t that he felt bound by the promise he made while tied to my bed. He stayed because I was the most sexually exciting partner he’d ever had, because he was more intensely in love with me than he’d imagined he could be with anyone, and because he felt more loved and accepted than ever before. That’s what the Loop can do.

© 1997 by Georgeann Cross. You may reproduce this material, in electronic or print form, for your own use or to give away, but only if you include the author’s copyright notice. You may not reproduce or print this material without including the author’s copyright notice. You may not sell copies of this material in any form. You may not make this material available for reading or viewing in exchange for a fee.
Georgeann Cross finished writing Sexual Power for Women in 1997. No one would publish it. The reasons are left to the reader’s speculation. A few copies on loose-leaf paper have been in circulation ever since, passing from woman to woman. One early attempt to post the work on the Internet was aborted in July of 1998 by the sudden death of the Webmaster. The entire text of this long-suppressed work can now be read at http://www.francescaspizza.com

The Massage Table

You have booked an appointment at a local Salon for a massage — it has been a long hard week and you are in pain. You walk in and I smile and ask you to undress and lie down.
“Just like that? Here? In front of you?” you ask.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“While you’re watching?”
“Yes, I want to see how you bend, how you lift, how you move your arms, legs, joints, muscles. Every part of your body comes into play in the simple act of undressing. Interesting, isn’t it?”
You have taken off your shirt, your socks, trousers. You are grimacing now, at a crouch after your removals and coming back up puts pressure on your knees and back. I stare at your body unashamedly.
“You have left your boxers on.” I say.
“Yes,” you say.
“Take them off and lie down on the table, make sure to place your cock in the second hole.”
You look down at the table. There is an expected indentation for the chin and face, and indeed, a second recessed opening, where a cock could conveniently fit.

 

..to be continued

Trained For Service

Keywords: female domination, Mistress, Watersports, enema, training, surrender

Two women and three men sat around a table nursing drinks. Emma and James had been married for seven years, Kay and Peter six. Darla, a widow, had just remarried.
We miss you, Darla, Emma said.
Darla shrugged… “well, its not to be helped, ” she said.  John is still adjusting to married life…
“As I see it,” Emma said , we have three problems. One, we were all happy with our former arrangements, but your new husband won’t play. Which means that you wont either. A pity…”.

“The other problem is that we crave it more than our husbands do… and can’t do with just a few times a week…” She paused to take a sip from her dacquiri. ”

And then.. well.. number three is: we like anal and oral, with swallowing, B and D, humiliation, coming on demand, no limits…, and well, our husbands aren’t going to give us everything we want any time soon.” Emma fnished.

Here’s what I just found out. There’s a woman, a trained nurse who was at a boys school in Switzerland. It seemed she like to experiment with the boys, capture them, brainwash them, make them into total sex slaves. She had the little boys serving all the female staff members. It excited her, I suppose.” She was caught and had to leave the school, and she’s living here now. In Connecticut. She was hired as a housekeeper except that her employers who happened to have a teenage son, found out t hat she had this weekness for bondage… and brainwashing… and fired her. But now she’s available and I think she can work a miracle with John.

 

To be continued…

Eva Norvind: Visiting My Childhood Home.

As I stood there and stared at the old wooden house where I once lived as a child, the impact was very strong. My mother had never made me forget I was born the daughter of Price Paulovi Chegodaf Sakonsky, and we lived in my mother’s stately family home where we couldn’t afford the maintenance. I was afraid to enter the building which had now become government property and declared a national landmark. This was my first trip back to Norway after having lived many years in different countries.

With the exception of the big chestnut, tree, the large garden was completely run down. Gone was the gazebo where my mother used to tell me fairy tales, gone was the doll house where I first played mommy and daddy games with the neighborhood children. The ground was hardened courtyard now, while in those days the earth was pliable, as my younger brother and I would dig bones out of the garden and hide them in the basement. We had quite a collection of skeletons from the monks that had been buried here a century earlier, when our property was a monastery. Next to the doll house I had found a dead bird which I had brought to my mother. It was my first encounter with death aside from the skeletons. Sometimes I had been visited by a long gowned, dark clad woman with the face of a dead bird. My mother had convinced me this was not a dream but the ghost of one of the monks.

This day I rang the doorbell of the building where I had spent the first seven years of my life. A man in working clothes opened the door. He told me he was a sculptor. All the rooms in the house were now studios for artists with scholarships. I explained my visit and asked if I could walk around. I was grateful he opened the doors for me and let me be by myself.

I looked out of the windows that once had seemed so large. I saw myself as a little girl running across the yard with food coupons for the nearby store. I didn’t remember the bombings by the Germans, nor the shelters where we would hide underground, as I was one year old when the war ended. I did remember how scarce the food was during the years that followed as we used to present coupons in order to eat.

Both my parents had worked as translators for the Nazi party in Norway . They wore Nazi uniforms and had read “Mein Kampf”. They claim they never knew the horrors that were happening then. A an adult I have often asked myself which were the values of these parents who had engendered me and who had given me so much love. Even if they were ignorant of many things, what could motivate anyone to work for someone who invades your homeland? As a Russian refugee Prince, living in fear of Communism and without a work permit, my father worked for the Nazis because only they would give him work. But what would excuse my mother? My father fainted once when he was asked to translate during the torture of a Russian who was believed to be a Communist . As both my parents slowly awaked to the Nazi injustice, they starting passing information to the Resistance.

After a time in prison and after the war, my father was completely cleared through a process in court which showed his many courageous deeds. He was therefore granted Norwegian citizenship. In the years to follow, they both developed strong favoritism towards anyone who was Jewish, to a point which makes me wonder if they unconsciously tried to compensate for their initial guilt feelings. My father is now married to a Jewish woman from St. Petersburg. He claims he might be Jewish himself as he believes he is the son of a Jewish physician with whom his mother had an affair while distanced from her husband.

Most of my mother’s paintings and sculptures were commissioned by Jewish people. She has also had several Jewish lovers and talks of being Jewish as being better than anyone else. I’m almost afraid of letting her know who of my friends are Jewish because she tends to forget that they are normal people, and treats them as Superhumans.

I walked around in the space that had been our living room, then filled with heavy antique furniture, now filled with heavy memories. In this space the family had been united. We had spent loving moments together here and had decorated many Christmas trees. It was also in this spae that my father told my brother and me that there was no God anymore, as he showed us a small wooden figure which he called Bugada. “This might as well be God,” he claimed. It was here I secretly cut out pictures from my father;s newspaper of Stalin, which I hid under my pillow at night. I worshiped Stalin as one would worship a forbidden fruit. I found him terribly attractive, and I was fearful my father would find out.

It was in this same living room that I met my father’s women. Their beauty made a memorable impression on me. Astrid, with jet black hair, white skin, red lips and dressed in deep violet, reminded me of Snow White grown up. Her sister, Ella, had curly brown, short hair and a friendly smile and dressed in pink. While Astrid would talk to me, Ella sometimes would give me a bath. They were both my father’s lovers. Confident that he would faithfully return to her, my mother introduced him to women she knew he would find attractive.

My father was a virgin when he married my mother. She found it natural for a man to know more than one women in his life. THere was a succession of beautiful women, but my father never returned to monogamy. Once my mother contemplated suicide. She was thinking of jumping off the train when my father let one of his mistresses join us during our summer vacation. He dreamt of going to Morocco and having a harem. My mother, who was wonderful with the children, he thought, would educate any offspring he might have from other wo men. With this in mind, he assiduously studied Arabic and only allowed Arabic music to be played at home. I spent hours looking at his complete and illustrated collection of 1001 ARABIAN NIGHTS.

One day a tall, blond Viking delivered sand for our sandbox. As I looked out the window at the hard ground outside, I bitterly remembered the sand which was the instrument which would change my life. My mother took us to the sand mountain and asked us what we though of the man who had become her friend. Naturally we like him since he let us glide down the mountain. Little did we know then that soon afterwards she would run away from my father, take us with her, and eventually marry her new friend. We were not allowed to see our father again until many years later.

Alexa’s Note: One cleans one’s storage spaces. One finds things. These typed pages were given to me to read by Ava several years before her Mexican death.

My Catering Tart

Hello!

Although it’s been nearly a week since we spoke, I am still thinking about you, your narrative and how you wrapped me up in it and made me a “catering tart”! So I must thank you; the memories have kept me entertained and busy thinking of such things ever since. Thank-you!

You suggested I write and remind you about some of the details of the fantasy so here is my summary:

I had described a story, from Fictionmania, about a boy with acne seeking a solution to clear it up. When a female friend’s mother mentioned how “the pill” had worked for her, a (somewhat predictable) series of events followed, which included the boy getting birth contol pills from his friend, as well as his own mother, and following a pathway to femininity.

That series is found on Fictionmania.com under the title “My Wonderful Obsession” by Donna Turner.
(http://www.fictionmania.tv/searchdisplay/authordisplay.html?word=4437

My main criticism (also predictable) of that story was the lack of sexual situations – even when, in one chapter, the main character had sex with his (temporary) girlfriend, little was made of it. All episodes were “G” rated with the exception of a later chapter which included the description of the main character masturbating his boyfriend – and this done in a way that achieved only an “R” rating. As I progressed through the chapters it occurred to me this was more of a romance novel than a smut story (as I might have been hoping for) and, at some point, I lost interest (not enough to keep me from skimming through to find the sexual parts, of course). However, I will give the writer credit, at least, for story telling and writing skills.

For your version, you took over my description of events in the story where the boy was led into the situation of becoming employed, by his girlfriend’s parents’ catering company, as a serving girl. The mother made every effor to ensure the boy would be completely convincing, not only in dress and comportment but also in situations where the men made passes at the serving girls – in a way that would ensure maximum profitability for the catering company. Later in your rendition, you introduced the boy to a girl who started out “just like him” . . .

I had to stop you at some point after that; I don’t recall exactly what you described that this girl was helping me with but, at the time, it was more than I could handle! I slept well that night but, when I awoke the following morning, I was aroused again and lingered in bed thinking about the catering job (and the “boss” and the “girl” and the events…).

The Chore List by RS

Why WOULD she be mad? he had done all the chores Mistress Alexa had left him with-and done a good job, too. the last thing she had done before leaving with her girlfriend Gail was humiliate him thoroughly by having him in his heels and hose along with his frilly apron-nothing else-dusting in the entryway when Gail arrived and came thru.

dusting wasnt so bad, but having to do it with my hands chained to my sides and a featherduster stuffed up my ass was a challenge. balanced on my heels and backing up to objects and shaking my ass at them was difficult, but it certainly amused the stronger women in the room as they laughed in unison. good bitch, my Mistress chortled-shake that ass! practice that! youll soon be doing it on a street corner!

i had to be careful not to break anything, so it took forever to complete a simple task. and before they left Mistress told me to get my sissy dick hard so that Gail could have a peek at it under my apron. and she wasnt unchaining my hands either. so, with my heels on-and a featherduster up my ass, i stood and started shaking my hips in the hopes that my swinging cock would rub against the lacy apron and stand tall for Mistress and friend.

 

as i felt it respond slightly the two of them could not help laughing at my predicament as i bent my knees and mounted the corner of the couch and attempted to give IT a rollicking fuck, but it was too low to really help. i was like a full balloon trying to run into a pin and Mistress finally came over and reached under my apron. staring me right in the eyes with a devilish smile, she slowly stroked my cock until my knees were quivering and i had filled her fist with solid meat. she stopped and lifted my apron and held it while Gail filled her eyes and i blushed as she used her sense of feel on me also-grabbing ahold as though she were selecting something at the corner deli.

they walked away and grabbed their purses and Mistress came over and unchained my hands and told me to get a move on-finish those chores. and i had-finished them all. so why shouldnt i go surfing with my buddies? we were only gonna be out a couple hours and only if we were happy with the waves. i mean if the waves were great, we may just stay for a few sets-if that. hell yeah, its barely 11 am, lets go. and i did-coming home a little after 12:30, to a Mistress sitting at her computer, quietly. i quickly showered and asked her if she would like some lunch. “i already ate. did you have fun, you little cumbucket?” i told her it was pretty decent and the water was warm. she spun around in her chair and said ” i expected you to be here when we got home.

i wanted you to model some panties for Gail-i forget, did i put ‘go surfing’ on your chore list?”–my heart skipped. “no ma’am”. -“i didnt think so. take off your shorts.” i removed my khaki shorts and stood before Mistress in light yellow thong panties. “lets go outback,” she ordered. i walked behind her, gauging the strident manner in which she moved-she was pissed. we got out to the middle of the lawn where she had hammered four stakes into the ground. they had cuffs chained to them. “lie down-on your stomach. you wanted sun, the smell of the beach and friends? you got ’em”.

she fastened my ankles securely. she fastened both wrists. she took a bottle of hawaiian tropic suntan oil-my favorite-and squirt it up my nose. “smell like the beach?-bitch?” -“yes Mistress”. “good. enjoy the sun, too. and friends will be here in a few hours.” –she started to walk away-“oh. one more thing”; she knelt by my hips and produced a bottle of suntan lotion and i felt her apply it to my back, thoughtfully. and then she placed her hand on my asscheek and outlined it with the lotion, then removed her hand and covered the portion of my ass outside of that with more lotion. she repeated that on the other cheek-informing me that in a few hours i would have nice red handprints on my whore ass.

while still kneeling she reached under me and tugged my balls free from my panties and fastened a long ribbon tightly around them. then tied it to a smaller stake between my spread thighs. whats THIS about, i wondered. i could not move at all. she chuckled and cleaned her hands in my hair and stood. “by the way bitch. the lotion on your back says S-L-U-T!–it should come in nice and clear-its supposed to be about 92 degrees today. real big letters too!” she admired her handywork one last time as she walked off leaving me to bake to her specifications. “and since you enjoy the beach so much, we will go there tomorrow-together. with your new tan.”—-youd think that as she strode into the house the sound of her laughter would peter out. nope. the only peter out was on the staked out slut in the yellow thong…….

Sit, relax, caress my nipples, close my legs, stay quiet for a while….

Hey Mistress Alexa. I keep on seeing your site from time to time. Not very often because I can only find one hypnotic script available. But I experienced the effect the first times I read it, and it stills last to me. I just think of your site, even without seeing it, I sit, relax, caress my nipples, close my legs, stay quiet for a while and I orgasm like a woman. Each time I do it I surrender more and more and feel deeper feminine orgasms without touching myself. I just feel the energy through my body orgasming and releasing my semen with little physical pleasure in my genitals but a great mind arousal and craving for submission. It is as if your spells milks me. It’s wonderfully humiliating. Since I found your site I might have masturbated only once or twice, most of my sexual wishes are satisfied by just having feminine orgasms. I cum quickly when I surrender to feminization. — from Argentina (2009)

Hey Mistress Alexa. It’s about two years I found your site.  …But since the first time I read one script, I really only feel feminine orgasms with no touch. Sometimes I imagine being a woman myself and even being with a man. (no wonder because even before that, I had always had some gay inclinations). Other times I concentrate on women and the idea of submitting to feminine power.

What should I do? Placing my self in the role of a woman and fancying about boys? Placing myself in the role of a submissive male and fancying about women dominate me?  or in the place of a submissive gay boy fancying about other boys?or perhaps all of the above?

— M from Argentina, 10/7/2010

A Mother’s Surprise (or My Sissy Son) by D.

I came across your site just recently.  The site is so well done and so informative.  I am divorced female, now 45, with a son that just turned 22.  I try to keep in shape, I am 5’11” 135 38C-24-36.  My son is 6’1″ and so very handsome.  I never thought I would be writing something like this, but would appreciate your input.  I have so many questions and you seem to have so many answers.

My first reaction was that I never thought it was so common and it seems so widespread.  My story begins about a year ago.  I had dressed very sexy and was going to an all day party with girlfriends.  When I got there, the hostess had taken ill and we all decided to reschedule.  What happened next was something out of the twilight zone.  When I arrived home I walked upstairs to my bedroom and heard moaning.  I watched from the door.  There was my son, Mr. Macho, dressed in my things, tall heels and all, playing with himself in front of my full length mirror.  My mind went blank as I tried to process the scene.  He was wearing a bra, panties a girdle, my white satin garterbelt, stockings, a half slip and a full slip and my 5″ white pumps with gold heels.  He had taken the time to put on makeup, earrings and a necklace and even an anklet.  I am Bi and I was looking forward to partying with my girlfriends – we have fun!  I am not sure how long I stayed at the door and watched, probably a lot longer than I remember now.

When I finally found the courage to walk in, my son was speechless.  That was a first.  Then I got “Oh mom I am so sorry”.  I sat on my bed, trying to be calm and cool and told him to walk and model for me.  He had one of my wigs on and really looked quite sexy.  He was way past embarrassed, more like a deer in the headlights.  After the ice was broken I started to enjoy his situation.  For once mom was in control.  I told him to stand there and not move and went to get my digital camera.  I had him pose and lift his slip(s).  He begged me not to take pictures but I told him that these would be much better than baby pictures later.  Then I told him to go and stand in front of my full length mirror and show me what he was doing before i walked in on him.  He was so shy.  I walked up behind him and cupped his little breasts and fondled him and told him to show me.  Finally I let my hands wander down his slip and began to caress him.  He came almost immediately.  I coould feel hium pumping into my panties and tight girdle and remember calling him a bitch as he shot load after load into my clothes.

After he calmed down he wanted to just undress but I said no.  I told him that if he wanted to feel like a woman he sould experience what is like to stay in wet cum soaked panties.  We sat on my bed and talked.  He confessed to so much and was really honest with me.  That impressed me.  He had been sneaking around for years watching me dressing and undressing and then going to jerk off.  I told him that if he was man enough to ask – he could watch but he had to ask and be buck ass naked when he came to my door.  I was shocked at how long he had been dressing in secret, always in my things.  I asked him if he had spied on my that morning and he admitted he had.  I described everything I was wearing underneath my clothes.  He was hard again very quickly with all the conversation but still confined in my panties and girdle and all his wet cum.

I told him I had noticed him trying to look up my skirt when we were on the coouch watching TV.  He admitted he had.  I told him to lay on the floor and I stood over him, my legs apart and asked him if that was what he wanted to see?

I made him put on jeans and a sweat shirt and told him we were going shopping.  No sock, just his loafers.  He was terrified.  In the car we talked about what we would buy and that I didn’t want him wearing my things anymore.  I am not sure which of us was more embarrassed but I made him pick out the styles he wanted.  I told most of the clerks what had happened and they really were great.  First Penny’s then Sears.  We had the basic black and white, then pink, pastels and red.  All with garterbelts, panties, bras, slips, some girdles, Skirts and Blouses, some dresses and his little black dress, three pairs of tall heels, white, black and red, and a few wigs of his own.  After awhile we were like to little girls on their first shopping spree.

I have two guest bedrooms, one with a walkin closet.  We spent hours cutting tags and hanging and folding his new clothes.  When we got home I told him to loose the jeans and sweat top.  That is when I noticed he had painted his toes.  I told him to hold up my slips and I unzipped my girdle and slid it down his legs.  It was soaked as were my panties.  I hadn’t seen his cock for years but he is HUGE, long and very thick.  It was funny at first to see it so hard and framed in my garterbelt.  Not very ladylike but still erotic.  I told him that he was going to wash all my clothes later and then fold them and put them back where he had found them.  He was way past horny and his cock looked so sexy poking out under my slips.

I told him to decide what he wanted to wear for dinner and suggested that we should both take a shower and dress as if we were going out.  I told him that if he jerked off I would spank him until he couldn’t sit.  I said that he he wanted to be dressed as a woman he would act like one, not like a whore.

I decided to wear my little black dress with a black garterbelt and long sheer stockings a my 5″ black pumps.  Amazingly, without see me , he did the same but he wore his new black lace bra and black lace panties. nails and makeup.  We had steak and lobster and champagne.  For the first time we were talking, sharing and he confessed to so much more

This all happened on a Thursday.  That weekend I was due to go out of town and took him with me.  I had been to a salon in Ft. Lauderdale a few times before.  I called ahead and asked my girl at the salon if she would wax both me and my son.  She owns the salon and said no problem.  That Saturday was quite a day.  I stood in and watched as he lost all his body hair.  In spite of his pain, his cock was so hard and twitching.  It didn’t bother her and we laughed that such pain could get such a response.  He lookes so good smooth.  When she finished waxing him she winked at me and ent down on his magnificent cock.  I wasn’t mentally prepared for that.  It didn’t take long and my son was shooting rope after rope of sperm into her mouth.  When he finished she bend over him and kissed him and gave him everything she had saved in her mouth.  That was one of the most expensive waxings with the tip and all.  What I found so fascinating is that he took it all and swallowed.  He left to get his nails done and I was next.  She did the same to me after I was waxed clean, but just the two of us.  I climaxed over and over again as she stayed with me.  I am sure my eyes were so glazed over as I went out to have my nails done.

She had referred me to a place in Ft. Lauderdale that specialized in crossdressing.  We found silicone breast form – he is now a D cum.  As they say “Oh what a difference”! They had bras in black and white where the breast forms slip inside.  It is wild, they come with realistic nipples and look so sexy under a dress or blouse.

Anyway, that is our story.  I am so glad that I did not freak out.  It has been a wonderful journey.  You site really helped me to understand that this is not a one off.  I can only imagine how strong the urge to “dress” is.  I would really like to know is there are other mothers who have dealt with this, or other sons who wished their mothers had?  He is a very sexy woman now, no one knows and we have fun!  Please get back to me as time and schedules permit.

D

[Donna – I love this picture into your life, and my houseboys will love it too. Thank you very very, A.]